


Sorrows Deep

by RougueShadowWolf



Series: 15 Minutes [181]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Stiles, M/M, Past Lives, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RougueShadowWolf/pseuds/RougueShadowWolf
Summary: They’ve crossed paths, many times, and lost one another time and time again.





	Sorrows Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, how’s things? 
> 
> Warning! I'm not at my best at the moment. I got sort of lost and I'm trying to claw my way back to being me, and so here we are with another round of 15Minutes. 
> 
> To those unfamiliar with this series, know that each fic is written in 15Minutes and thus there's no time to really think too much or fix mistakes. Once the time is up, it's up, and no more writing. If you can handle bad grammar, awful spelling, and clumsy writing then you are welcome here, if not then save yourself and leave now. 
> 
> This fic is my humble paymet to my friend Abandoned-Ambition (a name she's stuck with this time around the circle of madness called 15Minutes), and she wished for a fic with Peter Hale and Stiles Stilinski, one with past life thingy and Peter having to watch Stiles die at least once. This was all I could think off.

The great mountain rumbled once more, sending no doubt more ash into the sky and other greater horrors their way. The shutters of all the windows were closed now, sealed-up tight to keep the dreadful reality out of sight, and trying to keep the smoke and ash from reaching him and his young lover.  

 The roof above his head creaks and groans, telling him that times was truly running out on him, worst of all running out on the young man he’d grown to love in ways he’d never imagined himself capable of.

 He had hoped that staying indoors, closing the shutters tight, and covering any cracks with damp cloths would be enough to keep the wrath of the mountain from reaching him and his young love, but he knew now that nothing he did would protect or save him or his beautiful boy.

 He knows now that he ought to have listened to his young lover, he knows he should have given in to the desperate wishes of the much younger male. He knows now as Pompeii suffered the wrath of the gods, he should not have discarded visions his pale-skinned lover as nothing more than fever-fueled nightmares. He knows now as death draws near that he ought to have trusted the gift the gods had granted the one he loved, the one he admittedly loved with an almost maddening fierceness, but he had doubted the dreams and visions.

 Perhaps his unwillingness to believe the horrific visions and dreams had something to do with his reluctance to endanger the ailing life of his beautiful boy, any travel could’ve stolen away the life of the one he loved the most but remaining in Pompeii had now secured his beloveds end.

 Realizing that his actions, his decisions, had now doomed the one person in this whole world he wanted to protect and keep safe, the realization that his own inactions had secured the end of his beloved it brought tears to his eyes. Turning his tearful gaze towards the bedchamber where his young lover lay resting, he knew it was far too late to try and outrun the anger of the gods, he could feel it in his bones. Even if he left the boy behind, it was too late for him to escape the death that was coming, not that he would leave the beautiful boy to face death alone.

 Standing there faced with the fast approaching end, one that might be anything but gentle, he realizes that all he could now do was ensure that his wonderful lover did not suffer a possible gruesome and painful death.

 With a heavy heart, one full of guilt and regret, he starts towards the room where the boy who’d he’d asked to remain at his side not as a slave but a partner in life and love, his steps were slow and heavy as he reluctantly made his way to where the much younger male lay resting. It was a blessing really that his beautiful boy was unaware that the destruction the amber eyed youth had foreseen had begun, it gave him some comfort to know that his lover did not know that Pompeii and all they loved would disappear in ruins, ruins the wonderful boy had said would be unearthed.

 It was for the best that his young lover was and remained unaware of the true horrors that had transpired right outside the lavish home, and he preferred to keep it his young love in the dark so the long-limbed youth could pass without too much fear in his young heart.

 Entering the room that had always felt as the only place in all of Pompeii where he and his lover could be at peace, he feels his heart drop at the pitiful sight that lay before him. In the faint light that flickered as it battled against the darkness that threatened consume everything, a light that was not great enough to reveal beautiful artwork painted on the walls of their private chamber, the skin of his beloved appeared to almost glow.

 His beautiful boy, his wonder and delight, was wasted down to skin and bones., brow creased and sweat-soaked, dark locks damp. Still there was a beauty to the younger man, one that many had admired without shame.

 Not for the first time did he think that the boy born a slave was not entirely human, after all how could a slave and a gladiator create such a beauty? Surely a god or a goddess had to have had a hand-in the creation of the boy.  He’d seen the humans, the man and woman that claimed to be of the same flesh and blood as his boy, and he could not see how his sisters favorite slave and the gladiator owned by her husband could’ve created someone so beautiful and wise.

 When his sister had gifted the boy, the scrawny little boy who had not been even eight seasons old, he hadn’t been all that keen and he’d even treated the child as something less than an old dog, it wasn’t until later as the child grew in spirit and body, wit and beauty that he grew to appreciate the gift.

 Carefully he settles down next to his lover who still battled a fever that seemed unwilling to let go of the slender bodied boy, he’d summoned healers from far and wide to come to his Lovers aid, and they had been waiting for four when the mountain came alive. The uneasy breaths that left his beloved were difficult to hear, each loud and drawn out, the rattling breathes at times pausing too long for comfort.

 With a gentleness only reserved for the young man who had many gifts that would’ve made him desirable by men in power, he pulls the shivering body closer to his own, his well sculptured chest against the back that held horrific signs of the destructiveness of his possessiveness.

 His heart aches, trembles within his chest as he kisses the back of his Lovers head, whispers words of love into the ear which had been privy to many of his secrets even those which had seemed too dreadful to speak of to others. Slowly so not to startle the young man who was now mumbling strange things, he covers the peculiar nose that on any other would be unattractive and the plush lips that made the boy appear almost feminine with his own hand, and as everything about them his hand fits perfectly with the boy.

 His lover makes a startled sound then, body going rigid before weak and clammy hands reach out in a desperate attempt to remove the hand that covered mouth and nose. It was not a surprise that even when weak and dying that his lover would still find the will and strength to fight.

 `It’s alright. ´ he cries against the broad shoulder he’d often marked with vicious bites when the want and lust he felt became too much, some marks had never healed completely leaving evidence of nights spent together.

 It does not take long before his beloved stills, life leaving the younger male so much easier than expected due to the already weakened state of his young body.

 With his Lover gone he begins to cry in earnest, clinging to the lifeless remains of his most trusted friend and most faithful lover there is some small comfort in knowing that they would soon be joined in the after-life.

 

**~*~**

 

`Damn, lot of mosquitos here. ´ the kid shouts over the loud roar of battle and death, the kid is only a month shy from sixteen, he knows that they all know that but not even the fucking president gives a fuck about that. He’d promised the boy that once they got the beach, got it under control, killed a few Nazi bastards that he’d buy the kid a proper drink, one that would grow some hair on that flat pale chest of his, after all who knew if either one of the would see another month dawn.

 Since the kid stumbled, literally stumbled into his life, he’d done his hardest to keep the boy out of trouble, and even if he’d never admit it out-loud to a soul he’d sent one letter after another to the higher-ups telling them that this kid wasn’t old-enough to fight in a war. Heck, he’d even suggested the kid wasn’t mentally fit to be handed a gun, much less strong and healthy enough to go marching through bloody France or Germany.  

 But another body ready and willing to fight seemed to be all that mattered when you needed cannon fodder, sometimes he really hated the government and anyone with too much power and not enough heart.

Turning his gaze over at the boy, and the kid is still just a boy just one month older than his own daughter back home. A kid of sixteen had no goddamn business storming some godforsaken beach. This kid, orphaned no less, with unpronounceable Polish names, should’ve been back home studying to become something more, something like a doctor because the kid has the brains for it, He’s spent enough time watching out for the kid to know this boy, this clever and damn it beautiful boy had it in him to do anything he set his heart on.

Locking eyes with the amber ones, seeing the fear that was natural in such a fucked-up situation as the one they found themselves in, He couldn’t help but curse the fact that he hadn’t just shot the kid in the foot, if he had then the kid would be somewhere safe, somewhere far-far-away from this beach that appeared to be destined to be blown off of the face of the earth, a beach where the dead were already pilling up in a way he’d never seen before and some of the dead were beneath the stormy water due to the heavy gear they’d been carrying.

 This was Hell, that much was for sure, and He was afraid this was where the kid was going to die.

 `Just keep your head down kid, and follow my orders. ´ he barks back at the kid with moles that covered his ridiculously sensitive skin, it bruised as easily as it baked in the sun. He’s not entirely sure if the kid hears him, the kid seemed to have a gift that gave him the power to know exactly what was going on inside his head, the little bastard had even realized that he might not be as straight as his wife and family thought him to be, not that the kid had judged him for it or held it against him, the kid was odd that way somethings he’d let you get away with without judgement and other things he’d judge like some might God.

  _`Maybe one day the world will change, just enough so that people like us don’t have to go around hiding who we are. ´_ the kid had said, voice soft and hopeful. The kid might believe that the world and the people in it could change like that, but He certainly didn’t but He wasn’t as cruel as to say it out-loud, why break the hopeful delusions of a child?

 `Got it Alpha, My alpha. ´ the kid laughs, that ridiculous nickname always brining a smile to both their faces whether he wanted it or not. The kid from California just had a way of rubbing him the wrong way and making his world better by doing so, it was a twisted sort of relationship no doubt about that, but he’d rather have this than nothing at all.  

He’s about to tell the kid to shut-up when the slender body jerks unnaturally, violently enough to cause the stupid far too big helmet on his head to slide back revealing the pale forehead, a forehead Peter had kissed only a few nights ago after they beat McCall and Lahey during target practice, a practice that wasn’t authorized no less.  

 Pretty amber eyes go wide then, the pretty lips drop their cheeky grin while sand-covered hands move to rest against the abdomen that stayed flat no matter how much food the kid devoured, and the kid could devour twice as much food as four men combined which was why He’d promised that once the war and all the fighting was done he’d take the kid back home and let his wife spoil him rotten.   

 He can feel his own smile drop as he watches blood starting to stain the pale hand pressing against the already darkened and soaked fabric.

 `No. ´ he roars as he crosses the meager distance between them, the sand beneath his boots making his movements clumsy and too slow for his liking. He reaches the kid before he drops down flat on the ground, the stunned look on his young face still remaining. Without giving a damn about what’s going on around them He drags the kid into his arms, immediately trying to put pressure against the wound that was bleeding profusely, screaming all the while or fucking Greenberg to get his ass over to help, to save the kid whom he now cradled close to his body in a way he’d not dared to do before.

 `It – it’s fine. ´ the kid says, voice trembling slightly, the kid is trying to not only lie to him but himself as well, but the kid fails at it miserably which is nothing new.

`Haul you ass over Greenberg or I’m going to put my boot up your useless fat ass! ´ he yells over the kid who is suddenly cupping his cheek and thus drawing his attention back at the bleeding boy.

 `It – it’s alright. ´ the kid swears to him, and he just hasn’t got the heart to tell the boy that it isn’t alright, that he’s fucking dying on a shitty little stretch of sand in some country where people eat fucking neither one of them would’ve ever stepped a foot in under any other circumstances.

 `Yeah – yeah kid, you’ll be fine. You’ll be home in no time, showing of a battle scar to the ladies and all. ´ he says as best he can, holding back the tears that threaten to fall. He hates it, hates lying to this kid who had no place getting involved in stupid wars.

`Nope. ´ the kid replies, popping his P’s in that annoying way of his.

 `I know it’s hard kid, ´ he says while looking back over at crouching Greenberg, `but try not to be an idiot, you’ve already been dumb enough to get a bullet in you. ´

 `Don’t – don’t start telling lies now A-al-alpha. ´ the kid says, his breathing growing labored and his beautiful eyes clearly struggling to stay open.

`I’d never lie to you kid. ´ he obviously lies, putting more pressure on the wound, both of their hands now bloodied, he holds the kid closer with one arm before yelling once more for fucking Greenberg to drag his cowardly ass over.

`I – I think…´ the kid starts after a short silence, well not silence since the noise of the battle continued loud and unforgiving around them, and He’s pretty much kept yelling for Greenberg while cling on to the kid for dear life.

 `Now that’s dangerous. ´ he says gazing into the eyes that were losing their light, growing dimmer, it was a dreadful sight to behold.

`I – I think I’ve known – known you before. ´ the kid says, the hand that had been cupping his cheek dropping down to rest on His goddamn chest that was suddenly aching, and wouldn’t that just be a wonderful thing the kid bleeding out and Him dying from a broken heart on the beach they had been meant to storm together.

 A cold shiver runs through him as the gentle touch of this kid who was far too young to die slips away, he almost thinks he’s been here before, watched and felt this kid dying but that’s not possible, is it?

 `What the Hell are you talking about kid? ´ he asks before screaming again for Greenberg who isn’t all that far from the two of them.

 `Like – like in a past-life or - or something. ´ the kid clarifies, voice so weak and fragile, like a small child close to falling asleep. He shakes the kid a little, desperate to keep him alert and talking.

 

`Didn’t think a smart kid like you believed in such nonsense. ´ he laughs, it’s a sad and miserable laugh. He clings to the kid a little bit tighter, fighting the urge to kiss his forehead the way he did with his own kids back home, but he loves _this_ kid in a none-fatherly sort of way, in a way that makes him feel ashamed and even dirty.

`Wouldn’t it be nice, ´ the dying kid sighs, a little smile pulling at his lips.

 `If – if it were true? Wouldn’t it be nice? ´ the kid asks, his tired eyes gazing into his own eyes hopefully, `Maybe then, maybe then we could see each other again. ´

`Come on kid, isn’t that what heaven is for? ´ he quips back, knowing the kid would have to respond, after all the kid never was quiet.

 `I thought filthy Jews like me don’t get to go to your heaven, ´ the kid almost whispers, his eyes still closed, the long lashes whispering against the now dreadfully pale skin, his hand dropping down to his own chest.

 He wants to protest, to say that no God would keep this brilliant boy from heaven, unless of course there wasn’t a God but the kid continues to speak voice painfully weak.

 ` I – I thought God doesn’t – doesn’t let people like me in, wasn’t that what your preacher friend said? ´ now the kid looks at him, challenges him to say something, anything to prove him right or wrong, to declare the preacher wrong or right. 

 `Fuck heaven. Fuck God and all the Saints for that matter if a kid like you is denied access to heaven. Fuck them all.  ´ is the response He finally manages to give, by then the kid has started to drift towards unconsciousness, time is running out, and it is running out way too fast.

 `You hear me kid? Fuck heaven. Fuck God and all his fucking winged-bastards, ´ this draws the attention of the boy, a new look of surprise washing over his ghostly pale skin, `Fuck the saints and everything else, I’ll find you, I’ll find you no matter where you or I end-up. ´

The beautiful eyes that had always been full of mischief gaze ones more at him, searching for something before lifting up a bloodied pinky.  

 `Pinkie-promise, Alpha? ´ the kid asks, and by God He does pinkie-promise.

`I swear to you kid, I’ll find you. ´ He says as their pinkies part and the promise made still lingers between them fresh, he’ll repeat the promise in every shape possible as long as the kid stays around.

 `But – but how- how will you know that it’s me? What if I look different? ´ the kid asks fear finally creeping into his voice, but it’s not the fear of death that has brought dread into the young heart.

 He’s not sure where the words that fall from his mouth come from but the suggestion of using their nicknames seems like a good idea.

 `Can we change Stiles to something more awesome? ´ the kid obviously has to ask, but there are no takebacks and so he shakes his head, sure Stiles came from the ray of words he’d spat out the first day he’d had to deal with the kid and the someone came up with using them to give the kid the name Stiles.

 `Fine. ´ the kid sighed, closing his eyes, breathing out his last words which he could hardly hear through the noise.

 `See you later Alpha. ´

 `Bet you scrawny ass you will. ´ are the last words he says before young life slips from His fingers.

 

**~*~**

 

Before the fire Peter had none of the strange dreams that began to plague him once the fire licked away his sanity and burned his flesh, dreams that never existed before the devastation that came in the form of cruel flames, yet these dreams felt as real as the flames that continued to haunt him even after the fire.

 These dreams that always ended with the death of the younger male with eyes that in one light appeared amber, were a small all be it a strange relief to those that replayed the fire that ruined his pack.  In these fleeting dreams Peter was faced with younger men, all with the same eyes and often sporting the same upturn of a nose and mole dotted skin, not to forgot the fine set of lips, but the eyes that seemed to see right into his very soul were constant.

 These dreams gave him hope and comfort even if each ended with the death of the beautiful boy, and with each ending dream he could swear he heard a faint voice promise him that this boy that loved him in his dreams lived.  

 Peter felt it in his bones, in his soul and heart that he’d loved this boy with amber eyes, he could feel it in his heart that he’d loved him many-many times before, and even the wolf in him recognized the boy as more than just a figure conjured in dreams.

 The wolf yearned to find the boy, to experience the love and devotion it had not experienced with the boy, but which it felt it should.

 He didn’t always dream of the boy, no many of his dreams were of the fire that destroyed him and his family, but when he did dream of the boy Peter swore as did his wolf that they would find him one fine day, and each time they dreamed of the boy they felt a little bit stronger.

 The name Stiles never forgotten, not once did they forget the promise made to find this boy, this Stiles. And find him they did.


End file.
